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I called Sidney Williams, the commissioner of the New Jersey State Department of Corrections.
    Williams’s position is a political one, appointed by the governor. I wasn’t sure which way that would cut, but I basically saw it as a negative. Sheryl was counting on someone to do the right thing. When people concerned with doing the best thing politically actually do the right thing, it’s generally a coincidence.
    I told Mr. Williams’s assistant that I needed to talk to him on an urgent matter, concerning a prisoner in his system. When the woman didn’t seem impressed, I told her that it “is a matter of life and death,” and that “time is a crucial factor.”
    I had a feeling that she wasn’t cowed, because she started reciting the procedures I would have to take, starting with the officials within the prison itself. When it became clear that I wasn’t going to get through the impenetrable bureaucratic wall, I asked who was the next person below Williams on the chain of command.
    She told me that the first assistant commissioner was a woman named Constance Barkley, so I hung up and called Ms. Barkley next. She had a male assistant, I guess they go boy-girl, boy-girl, and I told him my name was Jamie Wagner, and that I needed to see Ms. Barkley on an urgent matter.
    It was pretty much the same story that I told the previous person, except for purposes of this conversation I wasn’t Jamie Wagner, a prisoner’s attorney. My new persona was Jamie Wagner, reporter for the Bergen Record , who was giving the Department of Corrections a chance to be quoted in a page-one story that was going to run the next day. A story that was focused totally and unflatteringly on that very department.
    An hour and a half later I was in Ms. Barkley’s office. She appeared to be in her late fifties, petite with a kind face. You wouldn’t pick her out of a lineup as a person second in command of a state-ful of felons.
    “You’re not a reporter,” she said, after we shook hands. “You’re a lawyer.”
    “What gave it away? My sweaty palms?”
    She laughed, which made me figure she wasn’t too annoyed by the deception. “No, the Bergen Record did that. When we checked they had no idea who you were. So we searched the system, and found you had recently registered as a lawyer for one Sheryl Harrison.”
    “Why did you agree to see me?” I asked.
    That brought a shrug. “Why not? I was curious, and what’s the worst that could happen?”
    “That’s my philosophy of life,” I said. “Actually, the story I gave you was partially true. What I wanted to talk to you about does have the potential to be a very big story. I’m hoping you can help me avoid that, and do the right thing in the process.”
    “I assume it’s about Ms. Harrison. What is it that she wants?” she asked.
    “She wants to save her daughter’s life.”
    “Sounds reasonable. Where does the Department of Corrections come in?”
    So I laid it straight out for her, chapter and verse, and she listened without saying anything, except a single “I see,” when I got to the part about Sheryl being the only match for a heart that Karen was likely to find.
    When she finally responded, it was slowly and carefully. “I’ll move your request quickly through the system. You were wise in coming straight here; had you gone through the local prison authorities it would have been bogged down for weeks.”
    “Great. Do you have a point of view on the request itself?”
    “I want you to understand that what I’m about to say does not represent the point of view of the commissioner, or the state of New Jersey.”
    I nodded. “Understood.”
    “I think it’s a wonderful thing she’s doing; I’d like to think I would do the same. But you don’t have a chance in hell. Not one.”
    That was becoming a familiar refrain. “Why not?”
    “Because we don’t kill people in New Jersey; we don’t have the death penalty. She should have committed her murder in